


the company of bees

by Your_Writer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Asgard, F/M, young loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Writer/pseuds/Your_Writer
Summary: Loki faces the difficult ordeal of accidentally falling in love with his wife; or, watch two stubborn persons who refuse to end a lifelong feud.





	1. the rose blossoms

It was rather funny what you first thought betrothed meant. You had heard it, once or twice, in hushed whispers from mother or in passing from a servant. As a seven year old, you thought maybe it was a type of soup. Later, upon being forced to visit with a rather truculent 11 year old, you thought you were so clever for figuring it out. Betrothed meant arranged friendship. What a poor child to have his father pay for him to have friends. Not that the concept was too much of a stretch. You wouldn’t have played with the terrible boy if not for your parent’s insistence.

He wasn’t a good sport at all. If you beat him at chess or at hide and seek, he would throw a tantrum until you begrudgingly gave him a rematch. Therein, of course, you would let him win. Very seldom you would find common ground with him in any interests. You preferred music and he said it was frivolous. You adored art and he commented how tacky it was. Your books were about flower pressing and sewing, while he leaned more toward the occult. The horrific pictures in those books, which he never hesitated to show you, make your skin crawl.

You had seldom alike interests. This was exclusively limited to a short series of dirty but amusing poems, and admiring his elder brother’s beautiful calico horse. Thor didn’t join in your games too often, he was a teenager and that high status gained him reverence amongst the two of you. If you thought hard enough, you could find a fleeting memory of him teaching you how to properly square your shoulders while holding a sword. Eventually, if memory served, he didn’t play with his brother at all. Even then at the young age of nine, you saw spite mask the pain.

Your own teenage years were unkind, as they often were with girls. You gained fast in places unwanted and were stunted in areas you wish could grow perhaps… a cup or two. Your usually fair complexion was muddled with blemishes that refused to hide under any cosmetics. Loki did not fail to seize such a chance to tease you. He would spread rumors that you had the pox until the Allmother forced him to stop. His magic had grown stronger over the years, letting his elements of attack become more discreet. He would hex the seams of your dress to be a size too small, or enchant your soaps to turn your hair bright white. Any spell he happened to cast upon you disappeared by sundown, but the pain lingered much longer. Your playdates became few and far between.

It wasn’t until you were maybe fifteen until you realized your place in the Asgardian palace. Father had caught you kissing the Chef’s errand boy in the back stairwell. He never hit you, but you were threatened within an inch of your life. You could not be caught doing such things, it was a direct smack in the face to your betrothed's family. It was only then when your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. Betrothed didn’t mean friend, or playmate, or even soup. Betrothed meant husband. It was only a matter of you coming of age, and of his brother to become married first.

You were seventeen before the thought of your betrothed came to mind again. You had been so busy with your studies, becoming articulate in languages of several realms, divisive in your planning of theoretical war games, and cunning in your social graces. You were the perfect Asgardian woman, delicate in thought and brutal in battle.  He had only come to mind for you had been recently wandering the halls of Asgard, bored to tears. A commissioned painting was drying above what was probably the 300th fireplace in the building, picturing the Allfather and his perfect family. Thor’s eyes were warm, as always, his hand on the graceful shoulder of his mother. Odin’s face oozed authority even in acrylic form. Loki stood with his hands clasped properly in front of him. His expression was blank. His eyes were cold, his expression passive. Perhaps it was the fault of the artist, putting more detail into the more beloved members of his family. Then again, cold was fairly accurate for Loki, or at least what you remembered of him. It had been a solid five years since speaking to him in person, and three since spotting him at a dignitaries birthday party.

This was not the sort of man you pictured for yourself as a girl. As a younger man, his hair often looked unwashed, his skin untanned. A hooked nose centered his features and offered a distraction from any alluring facets of his face. He barely showed emotion, which was better than when he was open with his thoughts. Anger, jealousy, greed. It was rather fitting what a few of the realms considered your kind to be, for the second born son had a horrifying god complex. You were a good daughter, though, at least you considered yourself to be. You would sculpt yourself into a dream wife for that sociopath whether he liked it or not. If you were lucky he would die an early death in a foolish duel, you would collect your widow's profit and tour half across the galaxy. A good thought however improbable.

It was another three years before you had any direct contact. There were only a handful of events before that crucial night, but they were regretfully uncordial and rather uncomfortable. Much like most men.

**✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯**

Family parties were far more tolerable when you were wine drunk. Loki felt cemented to his seat at the main table. Going for food was treacherous, far too many insipid yes men trying to strike up a conversation. Disgusting. The beautifully maintained gardens enclosing the pavilion were choked with throngs of young women growing dizzy from the unceasing flirtations from young men. More disgusting.

He was starting to get the warm, fuzzy feeling around his temples that signaled it was time to lay off when he caught her eye. Now there was a rose among thorns.

Her hair was neatly arranged and glossy from the torch light. A pair of sparkling eyes reflected the laughter spilling from full pink lips. His besotted gaze drifted down to an ample breast, encased in an attractive bodice. The expensive fabric pooled like a waterfall over the remainder of her alluring figure. She was entertaining one of his father’s warriors with what seemed to be a particularly witty tale. She was not flirting, though, her hands were firmly at her hips and she did not match the man’s wanting gaze. Was she married, perhaps? Or maybe just less than interested in this oaf.

Impulse control was not one of Loki’s strong suits. He rose from his prison behind the banquet table and strolled across the open air pavilion with the confidence of a peacock. The sea of people split nearly immediately, not wanting to invoke the oftentimes harsh demands of the youngest son. His rose was aptly leaning against a trellis of green that decorated the rough outer walls of the palace. Her inviting gaze strayed from her muscular companion for a moment, catching the Prince’s eye. Her mouth fell into a small O, recognition flooding her face. Shit, he thought to himself.

Was this a woman he bedded before? He thought better of himself, he would have remembered such a supple young creature gracing his sheets.

“Prince Loki?” She tilted her head with an amiable smile. “My beloved, how are you this evening?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Asgardians don't age like humans, it's just easier to digest if I speak in human terms. I'll probably be moving around a lot between childhood and adulthood so its also easier to know when I'm talking about. If you please, then maybe 7,000 year olds are sort of like 7 year olds. Hope you enjoy, I appreciate feedback and suggestions ^-^


	2. the rose has thorns

So this was his allusive betrothed. His drinking indiscretions of the evening had blurred his memory, and it didn’t help that the little worm of his childhood had metamorphasized so nicely. Now, any other man nearly caught attempting to flirt with his own fiancé would take a moment to remove the foot from his mouth. Loki, much too comfortable with detached emotions, took only a breath before replying.

“Wonderful, my dear. Are you enjoying the party?” His voice was dripping sweet honey.

“Absolutely. The company your family keeps is quite amusing,” You returned, turning to curtsy to your companion. “If you wouldn’t mind, I haven’t seen his Majesty in quite some time. We need to catch up during my unfortunately short stay, or I fear we will be near strangers on our wedding day.”

The soldier grunted, giving a polite half bow before sauntering off. Both of your smiles dropped like flies. Loki took your arm like a vice, dragging you discreetly inside of the palace. You yelped as he pressed you against a stone wall.

“Clever little bitch.” His palm went above your shoulder, boxing you in with his body. “Where do you get off dressing like that? Flaunting yourself like a common woman?”

“The usual, looking for a man or two for the night.” You bit back with oozing sarcasm.

“Stupid whore.”

“Egomaniac.”

You feared for a split second he would grab you by the throat. His childhood aggressions may have morphed into more aggressive monsters.

He instead seized your chin and forced a kiss upon you. It was rough and raw. You felt less like it was an act of love and more akin to a bite. His hands went exploring on their own volition, squeezing your hips in less than lover like motions.

Your slap echoed in the empty hallway, a red rose blossoming on his cheek.

“Pervert.”

“You are to be my bride. You are my property, I will do with you as I wish.”

You despised these moods he got into. In the final years of contact, he became insanely jealous of your company. That would be usually flattering in a lover, but Loki always turned around and tossed you away again.

“You’re still a child. You cast a toy into a corner and only think to care about it again when someone else picks it up.

“You are not my toy, you are my shackles. I am forced to associate myself with the likes of you.”

Your eyes could have rolled into the back of your skull. He was such a baby.

“You act like I agreed to any of this. My eye wanders as much as yours, if not more.”

His expression wavered more than it did when you hit him. He wasn’t hurt in a genuine way. His emotions were still untouched, while his ego had taken a small puncture.

“I suppose I’m a bit past asking how you’ve been.” He looked away with clear exasperation. “But I’ll ask nevertheless.”

“Fine, as fine as I can be. They say my education is nearly complete, that I’ll be ready for our union soon enough.”

His body language had shifted. He wasn’t the prowling snake wrapped around an unsuspecting mouse, but he was close enough to make the interaction uncomfortable. His breath was shallow and his body was warm. This chink in the armor gave you your first opportunity to admire your captor.

You were relieved to find that the greasy, vile teenager had only kept those respects in his personality. His pasty skin had evened to a pearl pallor, signifying his noble status. His nose was sharp still yet it matched the other harsh aspects of his features. His face was painfully beautiful, like the razor edge of a blade.

“You will be pleased to know our engagement may be rather lengthy. Your King and Queen have found themselves to be in an unfortunate situation. Thor has rejected the proposition from Lady Sif’s kinsmen.”

“You have to be joking.” Your hand flew over your mouth. “Is he…is he even allowed to do that?”

“He’s next in line for the throne, he could slaughter a farmer’s entire flock of sheep and Father would applaud his creativity.”

“We’re in what, marital limbo?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What is the point of any of this?” You protested. “You will never take the throne. You will never need a queen. I thought that was the benefit of being the youngest son, that you could sow your wild oats or take up frivolous hobbies.”

You were shocked to see his green eyes flared with fury. That same thought bubbled up again, that he would throttle you as punishment. He held his tongue and his hand before he paced away.

“Wait! What did I say? Loki?” You rushed after.

The palace was cold and empty. Anyone worth their salt was enjoying the fine festivities outside. The servants were busy in their quarters, preparing even more food and cleaning bedsheets for the overnight guests.

He was halfway up a grand staircase before he would even acknowledge your pleas. His head whipped back like a viper.

“I do not need to waste my time listening to the whining of silly little girl. You speak of matters you do not understand. Your first and only mistake will be underestimating me (y/n). You have absolutely no idea of the matters of my father’s heir.” His voice betrayed darkness you could only begin to imagine.

You froze, feeling your ears burn hot from the cruelty of his words. How dare he speak to you like this? How dare he act like he was your father or your king?

He glared back at you, awaiting a sharp response. Loki was only awarded a small hiccup of a sob. He felt the slightest, microscopic tinge of regret as your eyes were pricked with tears.

“I was right, though. You’re still a child. You hear things you don’t want to and go to pout in your room. You’re a bully.” You spoke clearly and concisely, ignoring the single tear that cut through your makeup.

“I do not care to know about whatever coup you have planned to take your father's place. I will applaud you in that it's undoubtedly oh so clever, and that you plan to be this realms savior. However, as the woman that will someday be your wife, I would prefer if you would take a step down from your egotistical mania every once in a while.”

His breathing had slowed from its dangerous frequency down to its usual cool and even pace. His face absorbed his emotion as quickly as it had built.

You raised one sleeve to blot your tears away. You didn’t want to hate him. You had wanted to make the most out of this forced love. He just made it so damn difficult.

“And I apologize for striking you, your highness. It was considerably inappropriate.” You continued after composing yourself.

“The apologies should be on my behalf, my dear.  I hope our next moment of intimacy can be better received.”

The stairwell had grown uncomfortably quiet. You both knew the remainder of your stay in the upper echelons of Asgard would be used to introduce the two of you more personally. Being disgusted by one another would just make the process even more painful.

“I suppose I will be seeing you at the Allmother’s archery social tomorrow?” He prodded, offering the olive branch, as it were.

“I believe so. I would be honored if you would pair with me.”

“Can’t resist being away from your beloved for too long?”

“I can’t resist destroying you in any conceivable way. Shaming your athletic prowess in front of your own family seems like a good first step.”

His face split into a devilish grin. “Best two out of three.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be more romantic material soon. trust me, i want to stick my tongue down loki's throat more than you do.


	3. the rose is watered

The only enjoyable part of the evening’s excursions was that Loki was nice to look at. His eyes were intense the more often he lost, and teasing when he would take the lead. Black leather, tall, a confident step, everything you liked. Now if only he was born a mute.

“Best 11 out of 20?” He held his dagger up to the setting sun, looking for flaws in the detailed steel.

“I’m going to be frank, dearest heart, if I have to touch another goddamn bow I might scream.”

“Fair enough.” He sheathed his weapon when he couldn’t find any imperfections.

The troupe of fattened and rum drunk family colleagues had ambled away for the moment. They too had grown tired of your shows of grandeur. A careful eye would spot their attentions had run thin in record time, seeing as you two wanted to absolve old grudges. The competition had been gritty. Your refined training was an equal match to his dirty cheating.

For every arrow slung he had a trick up his sleeve. While you bullseyes were acts of expertise, he relied on illusions and distractions. Equally impressive if you were into that sort of thing. The crescent marks of where your nails dug into the fatty flesh of your palms read that you definitely did not.

Eventually, the steam had run out. Your plastered smiles had grown cracks and your playful flirty banter was leaning more towards homicidal. The royal court came to expect that the majority of these engagements were a show but your relationship was pure theatrics.

“How do knives affect your constitution?”

“Mm,” You hummed, picking at the dirt under your nails. “Slightly less vomitus than arrows.”

You looked up at him from your spot in the grass. You were laying amongst the wildflowers in a very unladylike position, which was usually your favorite sorts of positions. He had chosen a close perch under a twisted old tree. You weren’t sure if he enjoyed the cool shadows or the aesthetic.

“Do you know how to throw?”

“Not really. My instructor said projectiles were a coward’s way to fight. You don’t have to look your opponent in the eyes that way.”

“Did he now?” His smirk made you scoff preemptively.

“ _She_ did, yes.”

“I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“Women, it’s in your nature. Never want to do anything the easy way. Always wanting to complicate things.”

“Have you ever, once, in your entire life thought, maybe ‘I should shut up?’”

“I’ve thought many times you should shut up.”

“Not what I _meant,_ ” You hoisted yourself up from your nest.

“If this skill is so necessary for battle," You drawled on. "Maybe I ought to have learned it. Perhaps you’ll teach me, being such an expert and all.” 

Loki sighed, choosing to take your thinly veiled “Fuck you” in earnest.

“Come on then. We have an hour before the sun goes down.”

You didn’t know what he was playing at but followed him up the hill to where the targets were. Broad pieces of parchment were tacked to hay bales, blue and red paint outlining a bullseye. Any observing parties had already packed up and gone for dinner back at the palace.

He unsheathed the dagger from his belt once again and handed it over to you. You palmed the weapon, tossing it lightly from hand to hand. It was nicely weighted and as sharp as the tongue of its owner.

“You aren’t going to want to hold it by the handle. Here,” He flipped the dagger so you were pinching the blade. “The heavier end points out, right? Let me see how you do.”

You gave your best throw, raising the knife above your shoulder and whipping it to the nearby mark. It barely made it halfway and stuck out of the soil like a sapling.

“Pitiful.”

“It’s my first try you ass. Like you could do any better.”

He plucked the ceremonial knife from your own sash despite your protests. With a quick flick of his wrist, the skinny blade had pierced the bullseye.  

“Lucky shot.” You folded your arms.

He walked coolly up to where his own blade protruded and then strolled back to where you pouted. With another smooth rotation of his hips, his own blade pierced the center. Your decorative dagger shattered on impact. Loki turned to stare at you.

You were silent for a few moments.

“You owe me a knife.”

“I owe you nothing. Consider it payment for your little imprudence last night.” He cupped your cheek precisely where you had struck his own.

You jerked your head away a little too late to seem menacing. His touch hadn’t felt completely repulsive on your flesh.

“If you’re done insulting my proficiency in such things, I would actually like to show you how I do it. I cannot marry a woman who can’t defend herself because it will hurt her attacker’s feelings.”

His hands cupped your hips, squaring your legs properly. Those ghostly digits traveled up your waist and further up to your shoulders. You would have quipped a joke about his propensity to do things the easy way but you didn’t want to interrupt him. A single harsh word now and you might lose this rare, helpful Loki.

“Raise your arm up but do not tense your shoulders. You’re second guessing yourself, it’s why your aim falters.”

His breath was hot against your neck and his left hand hadn’t moved from your hip. Outside of last night’s fight, you weren’t sure the two of you had ever been so close.

“Focus on the center. There’s nothing else around you. No trees, no grass, no me. And just…”

You flung the dagger into the twilight air with baited breath. The blade was far from the center, but it did catch the lip of the crudely drawn target.

“I did it!” You exclaimed, grinning for the first genuine time that day.

He still hadn’t let go of you.

He didn’t reflect back your excitement or any look of I told you so. His eyes were of a stranger, looking at you for the first time.

Loki’s free hand grazed the back your neck, eliciting your fine hairs to stand on end. You felt like you stared into those piercing green eyes for hours, though it must have been only seconds. His lips were gentle against your own, hungry but patient for their prey. Even his caressing was a cat and mouse game.

His tongue pressed against your full lips, much to your shock. A gasp interrupted the proceedings, then only to be taken advantage of. Your tongues started a deliberate, searing dance. You hated this man. You had spent your teenage years wishing he would disappear off the face of Asgard. And here you were, wanting to submit every inch of your flesh to him.

His left hand wandered, firmly gripping your ass like the depraved man he was. You weren’t supposed to be the sort of woman who loved this. Years and years of refinement were out the window.

You had only begun to realize that someone may happen upon your public display of affection, then had fully accepted that you didn’t care if your own mother witnessed the spectacle.

You were so absorbed that you barely noticed when the first drop fell.

Cold rain dribbled down your forehead and slid down to your conjoined lips. You wanted to moan in protest when he pulled away. What now? Embarrassment? A proper young lady would blush and make a comment about being taken advantage of. But you weren’t embarrassed. That had felt more natural than anything had in a long time.

“Inside, then? I’m sure everyone’s wondering where we ended up.” You held your hand above your eyes to shield some of the water away.

He didn’t make eye contact.

“Loki?”

He vanished in a cloud of sparks, and you quickly followed after. The colors and shapes around you blurred and reformed into your bedroom. Your betrothed stood in the doorway, his clothes and hair perfectly arranged while you still resembled a drowned rat. He was considerate enough to save you walking time but apparently not your ruined dress.

“I will see you in the gardens tomorrow if it pleases you.” He hesitated, turning away and then turning back again. “No, I don’t care if it pleases you, you will meet me immediately at daybreak. I do not like to be kept waiting.”

You nodded sweetly, getting on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Of course, my Prince. Goodnight.”

The grand oak door quietly shut in front of him, leaving Loki alone with his muddled thoughts and the smallest trace of a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aren't we all glad we as a people moved on from Loki in the hulk containment unit thing from A1 as the plot for sex stuff. i mean that was every damn fic in the known universe


	4. the rose grows wild

You had stared at the cracks in the ceiling until you had started counting them. You arrived somewhere above 210 when your eyes flickered to the window. The sky was fading from heather grey to cherry red and you knew your time was up. By the most generous of guesses, you had only gotten four hours of sleep. You had laid in bed like a corpse, hands closely clasped above your bust.

This wasn’t the way you thought romance stories were supposed to go. If everything were sickeningly sweet you would be traipsing around your closet looking for something green and lovely. You would be brushing your hair in eager anticipation to see your lover boy. You just felt peculiar.

Was this an angle he was working? A long con. Working you up, dropping you cold, and laughing that he had yet again made your life a little bit more miserable.

Why the hel did it feel worse if he wasn’t? Pride, you reasoned. You had spent the better part of your life barely masking your disgust for him. Now to turn around and…

Damn it.

He was going to be mad if you were late. Not that you cared what he thought, you just didn’t have the energy to deal with him today. He was as finicky as a cat. You slipped out of bed and hissed when your feet hit cold marble flooring. A few pieces of clean clothes were draped across a desk chair and they would have to do. You pulled on one of your dresses, the comfortable one with the nice hue, and strapped on your weapons accouterment. You never knew with him.

You slowly eased open your bedroom door lest it creaks and alerts someone to your morning rendezvous. No one in their right mind was up this early. You wondered for a passing moment if Thor was home. You knew he spent more of his time outside the walls of this realm as his spirit ran wild. You wished you had that level of freedom. Some felt rules kept things less complicated, you thought otherwise.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Frigga kept a beautiful garden, you could give her that. Beautiful trees towered taller than the skies, each one surrounded by massive buckets of strange flowers. They glittered, they glowed, they even floated. Now to find her youngest amongst the bizarre foliage.

The storm last night had rolled away and left behind a superb if not humid day. Loki had yet to show himself at the gates so you took it upon yourself to wander in and track him down. You had the creeping suspicion that you were a fly wandering around a spider’s web.

A shock of green, far more artificial than the chlorophyll of the leaves and the vines, stood out in the distance. You snuck up on the figure, hiding behind a massive pine. You then tilted your head so you could see past the broad trunk of the tree. There was your darling. He was sitting on the edge of a planter, adjusting his boot where it had snagged on his pant leg. His hair was tied back with a simple strip of cloth and for the first time, you noticed his cheekbones. His face was utterly exquisite. There were worse people to be engaged to.

“Are you going to be back there all day or are we playing hide and seek?” He tied the laces of his boot flush to the leather.

“Do you always have to be so mean? Good morning would suffice.”

“Good morning.”

“Is it though?”

You left the tree and took a seat on a nearby wooden bench wedged between two peace lilies, arranging your skirts just so. Loki decided he would rather join you than have to crane his neck.

“Would you like to explain to me why I’m up at such an atrocious hour?”

“I needed a location where no one would overhear us. I don’t make it a habit of publicly airing my dirty laundry.”

“Is that where I stand? I’m dirty laundry?”

“No. I’m speaking in reference to our partnership.”

“You make it sound like we’re starting a fruit stand together.”

“We aren’t close. Which is regrettable. I’m being made to spend the rest of my life with you and in that, I need to assure you will be my ally. I’m offering to you a proposition. We use the remainder of your time here to get to know one another better.”

“A peace treaty?”

“Precisely.”

“No more teasing, or pranks, or you acting like a complete beast?”

“And you won’t emasculate me in front of these idiots. Or keep treating me like a beast in the first place.”

“How do I know you’re not lying? Trying to get my guard down?”

“What do you want, a blood oath?”

“Something personal. Prove to me you’re really opening up.”

“If you really want to…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll allow you to read a few selections from my private library.”

“Really? I know I said personal but that’s…”

“Just a piece on sleight of hand and another on polytheism to start. Not two of my major interests but intriguing enough subjects to learn. It may benefit the both of us to share common interests.”

“I’ll gladly read them.” You couldn’t stop the smile on your lips. “We can discuss them, say…?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Next week.”

“If it really has to take you that long.” Loki sighed.

He was one of those people. The “I read that book before breakfast and the sequel by lunch” sort of arrogant asshole.

“If I have to keep suffering from your attitude we make our discussion next month, and I don’t think I’ll make time to fraternize with my host’s son during that time.”

“You act like a complete bitch.”

“I don’t act like a bitch, I am one. That’s why you like me.” Your grin turned devilish.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him down for a slow, soft kiss. That stone in your stomach dissolved only to be replaced with a gush of contentment. You tried to pull back to speak, but he held you there, relishing the fact no weather phenomena would stop you.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me?” He murmured when he found it fit to break the kiss and the intimate silence.

You trusted your hand slipping into his was enough of an answer.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“Such a beautiful room…wasted.” You spoke aloud to yourself.

The next day, you awoke early again with the intention to follow through on your promise to keep an open mind. That being said, you only half expected for any books to be in his quarters, and that this wasn't some complicated ruse.

You had asserted your right as the Prince's betrothed to ask a guard where in Odin’s name Loki’s bedroom was located. Your scathing glare caused his sleazy side eye to practically slide off of his face. He pointed to an intricate labyrinth of hallways and gave you instructions to a dark elvenwood door.

Now, even assuming his brother and parents had far more ornate furnishings, this bedroom was completely ridiculous. The floors were polished to a mirror shine. His walls were decorated with innumerable priceless portraits of his family’s accomplishments, a few covered in oilcloths. You assumed the royal piss baby had a distaste for a few of his relations.

The huge bay windows gave him a gorgeous view of his kingdom. Or more so, his brothers kingdom. The sun hung like a gold coin in the distant sky, the sunlight flooding the room to reveal quite a mess

His blankets were hanging haphazardly on the end of the feather mattress, pooling in a heap at the foot. His clothes, armor, and weapons were seemingly scattered wherever they landed and then never picked up again. This was the man who wanted to conquer the universe? He couldn’t even fold his socks.

“Books, books, books, books….” Your singsong voice echoed in the empty chamber, eyes wandering from object to object.

“Books!” You spotted a towering pile of black tombs at his bedside.

Cracking open the first cover, it revealed itself to be in a foreign language. Shit.

You opened another. Alchemy. Boring.

Poetry, horticulture, a much too graphic collection of war stories, a blank paged novel you were sure was hexed so you couldn’t read it, necromancy, more poetry…

“Oh, Loki…” You whispered, flipping through the pages. “Who would have thought?”

The last book in the pile, buried under the previous novels and then a thick sheath of parchment, had an unassuming brown leather cover. The pages were creased, bookmarked, and dog-eared. You thanked the very ground beneath your feet that it wasn’t stained or sticky.

You couldn’t argue that the drawings weren’t beautiful. The detail was incredible and the diagrams verging on educational brilliancy. The first page introduced ropes, a woman tied to bedposts and her male partner doing what male partners do. The following chapters were similar content, demonstrating how to introduce flogging materials. You took interest in Chapter 17, where a man had his lover facing cock up, whipping it with a switch. The paragraph partnered with the illustration explained how this can be done with leaving welts instead of wounds. Chapter 30 demonstrated how gagging and blindfolding heightened the sensation, making the orgasm as isolated as masturbation but with the benefit of having someone do the work for you. Interesting.

Your eyes flickered up, only now noticing the two books on his bedside table. Oops. You stood, brushing off your skirts before snatching up the duo he intended you to read. You had to get going, he was sure to notice you had read the more personal selection of his private collection. You were almost out the door when curiosity got the better of you. Turning, that damn brown book caught your eye again.

Loki had a point, perhaps indulging in each other’s interests would make this pill a little easier to swallow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took a bit to write but is longer :) anywho i can't write angst for too long i need to dash some fluff in


End file.
